-One Year-
(Possible trigger warning.)
Fun Ghoul stares himself down in the mirror.
His hair is longer, and more tattoos cove his body.
But he still hates it. He hates it all. It's just a reminder of what he's done.
More, what he couldn't do.
¬¬¬¬
"Mikey. Please put the markers down."
"No."
He continues to scribble, his fist wrapped around the red marker, smashing it into the paper.
"Mikey." The nurse tries again, prying the marker away from him.
"G-G-Give b-back!!" He cries, tears springing into his eyes as he makes "grabby-hands" for the marker.
"Michael. You need to go walk."
"No!!"
"You can color again when we get back."
He crosses his arms over his chest, jutting his bottom lip out.
"F-Fine."
The nurse nods, and clicks a couple buttons on the bed, making it to where Mikey can stand.
She carefully places him in the wheelchair and takes him downstairs to physical therapy.
¬¬¬¬
The infamous Party Poison, sits slumped in a chair. His eyes are blood-shot
A cigarette is clutched in his shaking hand, smoke drifting up from it.
The whole room smells of smoke, alcohol, and piss.
He takes a drag of the cancerous paper, and pushes his greasy black hair back.
He's staring at the raised, pink lines on his left forearm. A mark.
His mark. One of countless others.
But this one is special. It took him a month to complete.
Nine letters on the inside of his left forearm.
T-E-R-R-I-F-I-E-D.
Trying this out again.